


Recovery

by ReminiscentRevelry



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen, Parental Roy Mustang, Post-Promised Day, Recovery, Spoilers, implied royai - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22327906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReminiscentRevelry/pseuds/ReminiscentRevelry
Summary: When Mustang's eyesight is restored, the first people he wants to see are the Elric brothers.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 349





	Recovery

After the Promised Day, after Dr. Marcoh restored his sight, the first person Mustang saw was Hawkeye. She smiled at him from her bed, a look of relief apparent in her gaze. He scanned the room, his team all looking at him, Feury and Breda with their books, Havoc in his wheelchair, Falman reading a paper. Marcoh and Knox were checking over their charts, not paying attention to Hayate next to Hawkeye’s bed. He barked and jumped onto Mustang’s bed, nuzzling into his hand when he petted him.

“Good dog, Hayate,” he said. To Hawkeye, he asked, “Where are the Elrics?”

“Not one to beat around the bush, eh, Colonel?” Havoc said. “They’re in the lounge.”

“I want to see them.”

Dr. Marcoh hesitated. “Colonel, I’m not sure you should move yet-”

“Everyone else has seen them?” Mustang asked, looking at his team.

They all nodded. “They’re recovering pretty well,” Feury offered.

“You said the lounge?” Mustang stood up, waving off Breda when he went to help him. “I’m fine.”

Hawkeye smiled softly, standing up and putting a hand on his arm. “They’ve been worried about you,” she said, snapping her fingers for Hayate to follow. “Alphonse has been under close supervision. The doctors think his immune system weakened while his body was in the Gate, so they’ve been careful about letting him wander around.”

Mustang smirked, glancing at her. “And they’ve been listening to the doctor’s orders?”

“Alphonse has,” Hawkeye said. “Edward, however…”

“If Fullmetal listens to an order without fighting it, I’ll eat my gloves.” Mustang mumbled to her. She shook her head, bumping into him when he halted in the lounge entrance.

Sitting on the couch was Edward with a sheath of papers in one hand and a pen in the other. Beside the couch, in a wheelchair, was _Alphonse_.

He was dangerously thin, clearly malnourished from his body’s time in the Gate. An IV was hooked to his arm, but Mustang didn’t pay any mind to it, focused on Alphonse. Alphonse wasn’t a suit of armor. Alphonse was in his body. Alphonse was back to _normal,_ safe and sound and _alive._ Mustang barely noticed that he was walking closer, stuck looking at Al.

His hair was a few shades browner than Edward’s and loose around his shoulders. He was pale, which made sense, considering he hadn’t seen the sun in almost four years. He heard Mustang’s steps and turned to him, a broad smile crossing his face.

“Colonel Mustang!” His voice was weak from disuse, missing the metallic ring he’d gotten used to, but undeniably Al’s voice. “It’s good to see you!”

“You really did it,” Mustang murmured. “You finally did it.”

Al nodded, holding out a hand. Mustang took it, sucking in a shocked breath at how thin and weak Al’s hand felt. Al examined his hand, running his fingers along the bandages around his palms.

“I’d forgotten what bandages felt like,” Al said. 

Mustang smiled, realizing after a moment that the black fabric around Al’s shoulders wasn’t a blanket but his coat he’d offered when he’d come back through the portal. He knelt down in front of him, letting a fascinated Alphonse examine his hand. He felt Hayate nudge his leg and looked at the dog.

“Have you seen Hayate?” he asked, pulling his hand back to pick up the dog. Al gasped, reaching out and sinking his fingers into Hayate’s fur. The dog yipped, wiggling until Mustang set him on Al’s lap, where he curled up with his tail wagging.

“He’s so _soft_ ,” Al breathed. He stroked Hayate, his focus entirely diverted from Mustang to the dog, and Mustang couldn’t help the soft smile tugging at his face. Al’s eyes, much like his hair, were a few shades browner than Ed’s, but they held a childlike wonder that he’d never seen on Fullmetal, let alone on the suit of armor he’d known for years.

“How are you feeling, Alphonse?” Hawkeye asked. She put a hand on Mustang’s shoulder but he didn’t stand up. 

“Better every day, Lieutenant Hawkeye,” Alphonse said. He giggled when Hayate licked his nose. “Hayate, that tickles!”

Ed finally looked at them, raising a brow at Mustang knelt in front of Alphonse. He didn’t say anything, just set his papers on the table and leaned against the arm of the couch, his chin propped in his hand.

“Feury told me you’re recovering well,” Mustang said. 

Al nodded. “The doctors have me on IV nutrition for now, but they think they can move me to a liquid diet soon. Once I stabilize they want me to start physical therapy. I guess sitting in front of a Gate for four years can cause muscle atrophy.”

Mustang snorted. “Who would have guessed?” He glanced at Ed, noting that his focus was solely on Alphonse. He wore a fond smile that Mustang didn’t recognize, though it was replaced with a scowl once he looked at Mustang.

“So Marcoh fixed your eyes?” he asked.

Mustang lifted a hand to his eyes, brushing the bridge of his nose. “Yes, he did. I take it you don’t approve, Fullmetal.”

It wasn’t a question. He knew from the second Marcoh had offered that Ed wouldn’t approve, but he needed his sight if he was going to fix things.

“I don’t, but I understand why you did it.” Ed looked at Al, at Hayate sniffing his face. “Lieutenant, Hayate’s had a bath recently, right?”

“I wouldn’t have brought him along if he wasn’t clean,” Hawkeye said. She sat beside Ed, glancing at his papers.

“Right, your immune system isn’t as strong as it used to be, is it?” Mustang asked Al.

Al nodded. “They’ve got me on a schedule to catch up on my vaccines, but they want to be careful about exposure. Brother convinced them to let us here but they have us in a private room most of the time.”

“So you’re going through with your retirement?” Hawkeye asked. 

Mustang looked up, surprised. “Wait, what?”

Ed looked away from Al to the papers Hawkeye was now shuffling through and Mustang could swear if he looked hard enough, there was an ounce of regret in his eyes. “I’m retiring,” he said. “Not immediately, there’s still a lot to be sorted out before I can actually retire, but once the military is under some control and Al is recovered enough to go home, then I’m retiring.”

“Where will you go?” Hawkeye asked.

“Resembool,” Ed said. He passed her a sheet of paper. “There’s a house not far from Granny’s that I got the deed to a few months ago.”

“While you were on the run?” Mustang asked.

Ed grinned at him, toothy and mischievous. “The military may have wanted me turned in, but the mayor knew me from before I joined. No one in Resembool would turn either of us in.”

“Brother’s going to let me have cats,” Al chirped.

“ _A_ cat,” Ed said, “I agreed to _a_ cat. And the first thing we’re doing is fixing it, no way are you having _kittens_.”

Al frowned at him, puffing out his cheeks. Mustang chuckled at his expression, earning his own glare.

“We’ll miss you when you go,” Hawkeye said. 

Ed snorted derisively. “Yeah, I’m sure the Colonel will miss all the paperwork and travel expenses from my research.”

“That I won’t miss,” Mustang said, scratching Hayate behind the ears. Kneeling this long was going to make his knees ache, but he didn’t want to move just yet. “But you are welcome to visit, both of you.”

“Haven’t we caused you enough trouble?” Al asked. 

Mustang frowned at him and lifted a hand slowly, carefully, and flicked his forehead. He whined and Ed leaned forward, looking annoyed until Mustang fixed him with a glare.

“You uncovered corruption throughout the entire military and uncovered the plan to turn the entire country into a philosopher’s stone,” he said, “and _stopped it_. You saved the country, if not the world. The trouble you brought is outweighed by the good you’ve done.”

“Besides that,” Hawkeye said as she rested a hand on Ed’s shoulder, “you’ve made a difference in people’s everyday lives, even ours. You’re always welcome to see us, Edward. And you, Alphonse. We’ve been waiting for you to recover your body, too. We want to know that you’re doing well.”

Ed shrugged the shoulder Hawkeye wasn’t touching, crossing his flesh leg over his automail knee. “I doubt we’ll make frequent trips to Central,” he said, “but fine, I’ll make sure to kick down your door if I’m ever in town, Bastard.”

Mustang knew Ed’s attention had drifted from him to the papers he had to work on and shook his head smally. He was many things, but neither careless or oblivious applied, and both he and Edward knew it.

Later, when Alphonse had gone to sleep and Mustang had slipped away from his team crammed into his and Hawkeye’s room, he found Edward alone in the lounge, still with his pile of papers.

“Fullmetal.” He sat on the couch beside him, looking at the papers across the table with mild interest, an arm thrown over the back of the couch. 

“Bastard,” Ed returned. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“I’ve slept enough,” he said. Over Ed’s shoulder, he read the paper he was holding, a report on casualties. “Should you really be reading that?”

“Fu, Buccaneer, Greed,” Ed said flatly. 

“What?”

Ed looked at Mustang, grief thinly veiling the rage in his eyes. “We lost Old Man Fu, Captain Buccaneer, and Greed in the fight, but they weren’t the only ones lost. Those mannequin soldiers took out a lot of Central troops, and Father’s giant blast took out even more, from Central _and_ Briggs.”

“You’re blaming yourself,” Mustang said, not questioning it.

“They got dragged into this fight because of us,” Ed said.

“They fought because they care, Fullmetal,” Mustang said. He pulled the paper away from Ed. “They knew what they were risking when they joined the military.”

“But they didn’t know what was happening with the military, not like we did.” Ed reached for the paper, which Mustang held further out of reach. 

“Neither did we,” he returned. “But it’s a soldier’s duty to protect his country and that’s what they did in the end.”

“Fu wasn’t a soldier,” Ed snapped. “Or Greed.”

“Maybe not,” Mustang said calmly, “but they knew what was at stake when they joined the fight. They knew it was fight or die, and if they hadn’t helped, we could have lost. Imagine if Father had won, Ed - do you really think he would have stopped just at Amestris?”

Ed faltered, dropping his arm. He looked down, sitting back. “I didn’t want to think about it like that,” he murmured. “I just -”

“You wanted a way to save them,” Mustang said. He set a hand on Ed’s head. “We’ve all had moments like that, Fullmetal. But you can’t save everyone.”

Ed sighed. His pile of papers seemed to mock him, the scattered reports from MPs around Central City, from the surrounding towns and slums. Central Command wasn’t the only building damaged in Father’s blast, multiple buildings had been scorched by Mustang or damaged by Briggs soldiers, and the people who momentarily lost their souls while driving had gotten into wrecks that they were holding the military responsible for.

“Even when we win, it feels like we lose,” he said. 

Mustang sighed, his hand flat against Ed’s head. He’d been reading the reports from Ishval, the information Miles had about his kinsmen, and it seemed impossible for him to even begin rebuilding when the remaining Ishvalans were scattered everywhere from Drachma to Xerxes.

“You and Alphonse got your bodies back,” he said quietly. “You achieved your goal, against all odds. Just for once, Ed, let that be enough.”

“There it is again,” Ed murmured, looking at Mustang out of the corner of his eye. “You dropped the title.”

“Because I’m not talking to you as Colonel Bastard to Fullmetal, as commanding officer to pain-in-the-ass subordinate,” he said, shoving Ed’s head lightly. “I’m talking to you as Roy Mustang to Edward Elric, as adults on equal footing.” Ed shoved his hand off, glaring at him, but he kept going. “You joined the military when you were _twelve_ , Ed, and I had a major hand in that but it was your choice to join and your determination that got you here. You set a goal from the start that you’ve _finally_ reached. Can’t that be enough?”

“But all of the problems that were caused because of me -”

“Would have been found out eventually,” Mustang interrupted, “or would have gone unchecked until they got much, _much_ worse. The good you’ve done outweighs the trouble you’ve caused, Ed.”

“Even for General Hughes?” Ed whispered. In that moment Mustang saw the wavering in his strength, the uncertainty in his gaze, and he was reminded, not for the first time, that Ed wasn’t a soldier. Though affiliated with the military, he wasn’t trained by an academy or boot camp, he didn’t put stock in ranks or medals. That was where he differed from Mustang and in team, and it was rare that Ed displayed it so clearly.

Roy Mustang was many things, but careless was not one of them. Every move he made, everything he did was a calculated step to his goal. The persona of a womanizer covered the fact that his dates were his aunt’s intelligence agents. The persona of a slacker covered the fact that he was always thinking, always planning, always trying to move three steps ahead. The persona of a bastard colonel aiming for the top covered how much he cared about his subordinates.

Until he brought his team to Central with him, that is. That tipped off the Fuhrer that there were people outside of Maes Hughes that could be used against him and the family he’d cobbled together was scattered across Amestris, far out of reach. All except Fullmetal. 

The rapport they’d established, the vitriolic back and forth bickering wasn’t the same as his other personas. The venom Ed gave him was undistilled and unrelenting, making higher officers whisper about insubordination and disrespect, but Mustang returned it with his own sharpness every time. It was natural between them, a back and forth of wits and barbs that he didn’t have with anyone else because it sprouted from _Ed,_ not Mustang, but he made it work in his favor.

Alphonse would always apologize for his brother being rude, for kicking in his door and handing in a scribbled report and leaving with a, “See ya, Colonel Bastard!” Hawkeye would shake her head in disapproval when he poked at Ed’s buttons - progress on his research that he already knew wasn’t going where he wanted, fights he’d lost, how often he’d landed in the hospital, his diminutive stature. It kept them arguing and it kept people from taking them seriously. The Elrics didn’t need to know that it gave a layer of protection, the idea that Mustang kept them around in his own self-interest. The more they believed it, the safer it kept them. 

But here, watching Ed blame himself for every casualty, every point of destruction, every fallacy from the time he joined the military on, he realized the error he’d made.

He sighed and threw his reservations aside, pulling Ed into a hug. He felt Ed stiffen before relaxing, resting his head against Mustang’s shoulder. He kept a hand in Ed’s hair, holding it while Ed’s breaths became shakier and his hands grabbed at Mustang’s shirt, balled fists pulling at hospital scrubs.

Roy would never claim to have a paternal bone in his body. He left the parenting and all aspects related to Hughes, from emotional vulnerability to admissions of pride. But Hughes was gone, and Ed needed some level of comfort that Roy had a feeling he’d never ask for from anyone, least of all from him. 

(Or perhaps least of all from Hohenheim. He’d seen the man a few times in the hospital, talking to Alphonse and Izumi Curtis and May Chang, but never with Ed, who seemed to materialize as soon as Hohenheim had disappeared.) 

“Hughes wouldn’t blame you for anything, Ed,” he murmured. At Ed’s hitched breath, the hesitated sounds of words that wouldn’t come, he continued, “He’d be glad to see you and Alphonse alive and well. He’d be so proud of you both.”

There were few secrets that Roy swore to take to the grave. Hawkeye’s tattoo, his aunt’s network of information, the Elric brothers’ taboo. After Ed cried into his shoulder and let himself mourn, after they walked back to their rooms, he added their discussion to the list of things he’d never mention. 

It was a matter of trust, and though he knew Hawkeye had an idea of what happened - she had a way of knowing things he still didn’t understand, despite all their years together - he’d keep it to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> I did a rewatch of Brotherhood and _ow_ my heart. I always liked the idea that as soon as Mustang got his sight back he'd be like, "Where the fuck are they I didn't put up with them for four years to NOT see what Al looks like." But this took a bit of a softer route where he sees them and ends up being more of a mentor than a Commanding Officer.  
> Also, Royai if you squint I guess.


End file.
